Gradually, Exponentially
by vunterslauche
Summary: Stan's first time with Kyle after a traumatic predicament between a beautiful boy and a psychopathic "friend".


hey, guys. this isn't pwp. this is more like... pwb. (porn with backstory?)

i'm leaving it up to you guys to imagine exactly how kyle and cartman hooked up– i like ambiguous stuff like that. sorry.

this is my first fanfic in the south park fandom, and i look forward to writing many more. thanks for reading. i'm seriously, you guys.

* * *

"Okay, Stan, now, I've already thought this over," Kyle sighed slightly nonchalantly as he inspected his nails. "A lot."

"Hmmm," Stan replied distractedly, trying to beat his level in Street Fighter 4. Kyle lay stretched across his lap as he played his video game, as per usual for their lazy Saturday afternoon sort-of dates. Truthfully, this Saturday thing had happened since they were about four, so when they began dating it wasn't so much of a date as much as it was tradition, apart from the occasional kissing.

"But I think at this point I am basically ready to have sex with you," Kyle's voice wavered slightly, though his tone bore a suit of confident armor.

Stan gulped and paused his game, then looked down at Kyle. "Oh," he blinked, a little nervous. "Are. Are you sure, dude? Because we really don't have to if you aren't–"

"Oh, please, as if I don't know you jerk off in the bathroom after every time we make out, Stanley. Frankly, it's depressing to even know about. Besides, I'm just being a baby about it." Kyle sat up and sniffed. "Come on," he extended his hand to Stan, "take me up to your room."

Stan's heart beat erratically as he found himself nodding and taking Kyle's hand. Kyle, the boy he'd known his whole life, the boy who played Monopoly and Guitar Hero with him, who sat behind him on sled rides, who built snowmen with him, who pulled him through Garrison's stupid projects, who made him believe in a Christmas-themed piece of crap, his super best friend since they were babies, was now leading him up to his own bedroom to have sex.

Kyle began to briskly disrobe himself once in Stan's bedroom, almost mechanically unbuttoning his cardigan and staring at the goofy Terrance and Phillip bedsheets that Stan still left on his bed from when they were kids. Stan swallowed nervously; he could see Kyle's fingers tremble as he undid the belt on his jeans, and to attempt to ease Kyle's apprehension he quickly slipped out of his sweatpants, glancing up at Kyle in reassurance.

"Can I leave my shirt on?" Kyle asked, a bit distantly, obviously trying to sound stable.

"Of course, dude," nodded Stan. He knows from Kenny's talk of Cartman's gloating that the last time Kyle had had sex, he had been the only one completely nude. A small bubble of hate formed within Stan just thinking about that fat fuck tainting Kyle like that, but that hate was quickly replaced with endearment when Kyle sat on his bed, in only his striped button-down shirt and his boxer briefs, flushing red in the face. Kyle was just sort of a naturally endearing person, at least in Stan's opinion, or maybe that was because he'd known Kyle since graduating from Pull-Ups. "Do you want me to take everything off?" he asked Kyle carefully.

Kyle seemed to consider this for a moment, then finally shook his head. "I want to be on the same level. You can leave your shirt on."

Stan smiled a little and sat on the bed next to Kyle. "Okay, so. Um. Do you wanna just start by, uh, kissing?"

"Uh. Sure," Kyle blinked, and scooted closer to Stan, kissing him a little too quickly and forcefully, but Stan soon matched his pace and raised his hands to cup Kyle's face.

Within a few minutes of making out, Stan was already straining against his boxers, and Kyle just beginning to get hard. Stan pulled back, trying to regain his breath, and went to kissing down Kyle's neck. "Kyle," he uttered, lifting his head to glance up at his face, "are you doing okay?"

Kyle nodded quickly, letting out a strained puff of air. "Uh. Yeah. Keep going," he half-whispered in an obviously unsure way.

Stan straightened himself and kissed Kyle's forehead. "Dude, you know I told you that if you didn't feel comfortable we could call it quits."

"But Stan– ugh, goddamnit, I want this. You have no idea how badly I've wanted this, okay. But it's just..." Kyle looked to the side to avoid direct eye contact, running a hand through his thick hair. "It's just that sometimes my brain has a difficult time distinguishing whether it's Cartman or if it's really you. And it is you, obviously, and I love that, Stanley, you know I do. I just. Yeah."

"Just relax. I love you, dude," Stan sighed against Kyle's lips. They kissed again, slowly this time, and soon their speed built and Stan was trembling in a handful of moments. Stan rested his hand on Kyle's thigh, which forced a very, very quiet moan from Kyle's throat.

Stan felt now that if he didn't start doing something proactively _right now_, he might just come from the overwhelm itself. "Kyle, let's, let's," Stan moaned in a sort of embarrassing way, "can I touch you?"

Kyle nodded, panting a little, and Stan leaned in to kiss him again. Stan led the way in sort of tilting them backwards so that Kyle was against the pillows as Stan hovered over him. Kyle, a shudder passing through him, ran his hand down Stan's chest and made a low noise in the back of his throat. Stan, feeling a bit more confident now that Kyle was growing more comfortable, set his hand on Kyle's hip and squeezed a bit– but that was when Kyle pulled back, gasping.

Kyle's eyes were glazed over with a hollow fear, and he swallowed dryly, interrupting his hyperventilation for a moment. Stan began panicking, and quickly took his hand off of Kyle's hip. "Kyle?" he asked quietly, a sudden lump lodged in his throat.

"Stan–" Kyle exhaled in a quiet and slightly rickety voice, a frail husk of a Kyle that Stan had only seen once or twice. "Stan, I. I just–" his voice caught in his throat, and he set his face in his hands, voice dropping to a whisper. "All I can think about is Cartman's voice, 'Yeah, Kyle, take it, you little bitch, scream all you want, nobody can hear you, you're a little whore–' I, I'm sorry, Stan," he said, not-so-stealthily wiping at his eyes.

"Dude– Kyle," Stan corrected himself; calling Kyle 'dude' right now seemed grossly immature and insensitive. He had never really seen Kyle this shaken up before– he'd once witnessed a diluted version of this when they all saw Indiana Jones get raped by Lucas and Spielberg in the fourth grade. It was now very surreal for Stan to realize that Kyle had gotten raped by Eric Cartman almost a year ago. "Why don't we stop, okay?" Stan suggested gently, refraining himself from setting any touches, however comforting he intended them to be, on Kyle without his explicit permission.

"Yeah," Kyle nodded tearfully, and moved out from under Stan. He lay on his side and shivered, scooting himself under the Terrance and Phillip blankets and curling himself into Stan. "Hold me, Stanley," Kyle asked in a sort of hoarse whisper, sliding his eyes shut and taking a bit of Stan's P.E. t-shirt in one hand, the one that had 'MARSH' written on the front of it in a messy Sharpie scrawl. Stan held him dutifully, kissing his curls and sighing into them. After a while of laying there, Stan could feel Kyle drift off to sleep next to him, his even breathing against Stan's chest soothing his still-speeding heartbeat. Stan was still a little shaken up himself; not only from seeing Kyle like that, but also from even fathoming someone doing something so evil. It seemed almost outlandish– he always knew Cartman was a sociopath, but it never occurred to him, in all those years of being such a vindictive and manipulative kid, that he was a fucking psychopath. And the fact that he would do something so vile and outrageous as to violate Kyle rattled Stan in a way he'd never been before.

Stan was still a little hard, but felt it disrespectful to relieve himself at a time like this. He kept his arms around Kyle and drifted off with him.

...

Kyle woke slowly against Stan's chest, and the moment he buried his face in the MARSH shirt and sighed shallowly into it, Stan awoke with a mild jolt. He craned his neck to glance at the clock on his bedside– they'd only slept about an hour or so, which was somewhat of a relief to Stan. Whenever he slept more than an hour or two during the day he woke up kind of angry, like he'd surrendered a chunk of his day to sleep and he would never get that chunk back.

"Stan," came Kyle's quiet, sort-of sigh, "I'm kind of hard." To punctuate this statement, he nudged his hips to Stan's, and sure enough, the telltale bulge that brushed against Stan's crotch made his own cock jump.

"Oh– Kyle, I– do you want me to– ?" Stan asked, uncertain after the ordeal earlier. Kyle took Stan's hand and set it against his boxer briefs. Underneath the two little buttons on the front, Stan swallowed as he felt Kyle's cock straining against his hand.

"I think so. Just go slow," Kyle said in a shaky breath. Stan nodded and adjusted himself so he could grasp Kyle's dick through the fabric of the underwear. Kyle whined audibly as Stan squeezed him gently, encouraging Stan to knock their foreheads together as he stroked Kyle through his underwear. Stan, getting into it in a kind of awkward way, moved his hand from the outside of the underwear to the waistband, looking at Kyle for permission. Kyle began trembling, a mild fear threatening to cloud his eyes, but Stan kissed him and used his other hand to cup his face. "I'm here, it's me, it's Stan," he kept repeating, and Kyle's shoulders began to loosen up– and eventually, Kyle nodded, mouth open and eyes closed, and panted a small _yes_.

Stan slipped his hand into Kyle's boxer briefs, gently touching the head of his cock with two fingers. Kyle tucked his face into Stan's neck, panting in between small kisses of the skin there. Tentatively, Stan took Kyle into his hand and stroked slowly for a while, until Kyle whispered a quick "go faster," and Stan was quick to obey. Stan kept up with repeating his mantra of reassurance as he increased his hand's pace– and soon, Kyle was shivering and whispering Stan's name repeatedly in an increasingly desperate way. Stan couldn't take it any longer; the hand on Kyle's face shoved itself into his own boxers, but not quite wanting to come before Kyle did. It seemed unfair.

He didn't need to wait much longer, though, as an accidental squeeze of Kyle's dick had him trembling, tense, a squeaky cry escaping him as Stan's hand was covered with Kyle's come. This proved too much for Stan, and he followed Kyle almost instantly.

It took them several moments to regain composure, and when Stan was able to think properly again, he freed both of his hands to grab tissues to clean them up. Kyle lay there panting as Stan wiped his spent cock with a Kleenex. He threw the tissues into the wastebasket across the room, not even bothering to check if they even made it into the trash, and lay next to Kyle.

"Was that okay? How do you feel?" he asked Kyle, a bit nervously.

Kyle smiled tiredly and buried his face in Stan's neck. "I'm better. Gradually, exponentially better."

...

When they woke up again later, Stan checked the bedside clock again. He wasn't even a little bit upset about how long they'd slept, because Kyle was gradually, exponentially better.


End file.
